The Snow of Peace
by LuckyLadybug
Summary: An immediate continuation of season 7's The Wind of Outrage. Before The Virginian and Trampas leave the area of the Inn of the Weary Traveler, there's one more task they must perform: collect the body of a murdered man. But when they discover the man is still alive but critically wounded, it becomes a race against time to save his life. And, perhaps, they will be in danger as well.
1. Chapter 1

**The Virginian**

**The Snow of Peace**

**By Lucky_Ladybug**

**Notes: The characters are not mine and the story is! This is an immediate continuation of season 7's **_**The Wind of Outrage**_**, with me fiddling with a certain character's fate. I also decided to bring in a character from my favorite episode, season 6's **_**The Fortress**_**. (And yes, I am very aware of the irony of these particular two characters co-existing in this story. If anyone else gets it, congratulations!) I hope everyone will sound in-character for this point in the series. I'm particularly concerned about Trampas; I think I gave him the approximate speech pattern of Colonel Steve Austin and I'm not sure it works. Thoughts, please? Keeping characters in-character is very important to me.**

**Chapter One**

The Virginian had seemed in fairly cheerful spirits when he and Trampas first departed The Inn of the Weary Traveler. They had traveled in silence for a while before The Virginian had started a conversation about what everyone else would be doing back at Shiloh while waiting for them to return. Trampas had chatted with him about it, sensing that something wasn't quite right and yet not being able to put his finger on what it was.

They were not long past the old military fort when The Virginian grew somber, turning off the road and into the woods. Surprised, Trampas followed.

"What's the trouble?" he asked.

The Virginian glanced at him and then gazed thoughtfully into the distance. "Have you forgotten about something?" he asked, quietly. "There was a murder in here."

"Oh." Suddenly Trampas realized what The Virginian was doing. "No, I didn't forget."

"I can't just leave poor Sturdevant's body there on the ground," The Virginian said. "It'll take a while to get anyone out here to claim it."

"You wanna take him in to the nearest town?" Trampas queried.

The Virginian nodded. "It's the least I can do for him." His eyes darkened. "I might've been able to save his life if I hadn't ended up shot."

Trampas's eyes flickered in surprise, but then he slowly nodded. He could understand his longtime friend's feelings on the matter.

"He was downright outraged at Jacques' plan," The Virginian continued. "Wouldn't go along with it at all. I don't think Jacques understood why he would ever refuse such a profitable enterprise."

"Jacques apparently never understood that there's more important things in life than money and power," Trampas muttered. "Like integrity and friendship."

"And Sturdevant was either too upset to think straight or he didn't really think Jacques would kill him for knowing too much, because he tried to just up and leave after saying he wouldn't have any part of it. That's about when they realized I was there and someone shot at me." The Virginian slowed his horse to a halt as they reached the spot.

The black-cloaked form was still lying lifeless on the ground, where Trampas had seen him earlier. The Virginian approached and knelt down, deeply frowning at the stab wound in the other man's back.

"Bring that spare blanket, Trampas," he instructed. "We'll wrap the body in that."

Trampas obeyed, collecting the blanket and heading over to the scene. But as he arrived and also knelt, a weak moan and The Virginian jumping a mile caused him to drop the covering into the grass.

"It can't be!" Trampas gasped. "Was that him?!"

The Virginian bent down, checking Sturdevant for signs of life. "Yes, it was!"

Trampas shook his head in disbelief. "He was dead when I found him," he cried. "I _know_ he was dead!"

"People have been mistakenly left for dead before," The Virginian said grimly, but with touches of both hope and urgency in his voice. "And that's the case with our friend Sturdevant here. He's still alive! Trampas, help me bandage him up before he loses any more blood. Then we'll have to get him on a horse. He needs medical attention right now!"

Still reeling, and quickly growing angry at himself, Trampas complied, digging in his pack for the bandages Suzanne had sent with them for re-bandaging The Virginian's shoulder. His thoughts wandered as they both worked, tearing the other man's cloak and clothes to better get at the wound.

How could he have made such a mistake? Trampas remembered now that he had not even bent down to see if Sturdevant was still alive. He had just stood over the body, certain that he was dead, and then had picked up the empty moneybox. And if he and The Virginian hadn't come along now, Sturdevant probably really would be dead. It might even be too late for him already. He had been lying here since early in the morning, before it was even light.

"That's the best we can do for now," The Virginian spoke, dragging Trampas out of his thoughts. They had cleaned the deep wound and now were just finishing the application of the bandage. Already it was red with blood.

"He doesn't look good," Trampas frowned.

"He's barely hanging on," The Virginian agreed. "I don't know how he's held out this long."

Trampas gathered up the rest of the supplies. "We'll have to get him back to the inn," he realized. "There's nothing else close enough."

The Virginian nodded. "Suzanne won't be alone tonight."

Trampas had to wonder what she was going to think of this procession, and the reason for it. But of course there was no other choice. And Sturdevant was in this state because he had absolutely refused to participate in harming Louis. That, if nothing else, should help Suzanne feel better about having him there.

With The Virginian only having the use of one arm, it was mainly Trampas working to drape the limp body across the nearest horse. But The Virginian held the animal steady and thereafter kept a firm grip on the reins.

"I'll walk alongside the horse and make sure he doesn't fall off," Trampas said. "You're hurt too. Get on the other horse and ride."

The Virginian looked as though he might protest, but he thought better of it, knowing that he was indeed weakened from his own wound and the blood loss. He climbed onto the second horse.

xxxx

The sky was clouding up again by the time they made their way back to the fort. The temperature had dropped; another stormy night was likely waiting to be let loose.

Both The Virginian and Trampas eyed the thick clouds in concern. They would not be able to send for a doctor tonight if the clouds burst forth with their fury. Late Autumn definitely wasn't a good time to be traveling, especially when someone was seriously hurt.

Suzanne saw them coming. She hurried onto the porch, her eyes wide and worried and bewildered. "What's happened?" she gasped.

"It turns out Mr. Sturdevant wasn't dead after all," Trampas greeted her. "We went out to get his body and found him still clinging to life. We're going to have to bring him inside and I'll have to go for a doctor. He still might not make it, but . . ." He glanced to the motionless form. "We have to try."

Sickened and alarmed, Suzanne shakily nodded. "Of . . . of course," she stammered. "Bring him in. I'll fix something for him on the ground floor." She turned, rushing back into the building.

"She took that well," The Virginian commented.

"She didn't really have the time to think about taking it any other way," Trampas said. "She'll get time for that later." He started to lift the critically wounded man down from the horse.

Sturdevant groaned. "What's going on?" he mumbled. Trying and failing to get his footing, he crashed hard into Trampas.

"Whoa," Trampas said, steadying him. "We're trying to help you, but you're really bad off."

The Virginian got down from his horse and came over to the scene as well. "The best thing to do is just relax," he said soothingly. "We'll get you somewhere soft and do all we can for you. The rest will be up to you. And since you've tried so hard to stay here up to now, you just might have a chance."

Sturdevant squinted over at him. "Who . . . ?"

He didn't have the strength to speak any further. As he stumbled, going all the more limp, The Virginian tried to help support him with his one good shoulder. Together, he and Trampas managed to half-carry, half-drag him up to the front porch and inside.

Suzanne was just coming out of a room, wiping her hands on her apron. "You can bring him in here," she directed. "I'll bring what I can to treat his wound."

"We did what we could out there," Trampas said with a frown, "but he definitely needs more help. I should leave right now to find a doctor before that storm comes in."

The Virginian nodded, but looked concerned. "You'll never make it to the town before dark."

"I'll just have to try anyway," Trampas returned, adjusting his hat. "Maybe it won't start storming until late."

"Then you and the doctor might get caught in it coming back," Suzanne worried.

"We'll be alright," Trampas said. "And even if we have to stay overnight, at least the doctor will know that much sooner, instead of me just starting out tomorrow to get him. We'll still get back faster if I go out now."

"Trampas is right," said The Virginian. "He needs to go before it gets any later."

Suzanne was still concerned, but she nodded. "Then go, Trampas," she said quietly.

Trampas wondered how much of her concern was actually directed at him and how much was being projected on him due to her concern for Louis, gone to fight the revolution again. But he nodded and hurried out.

xxxx

The hours were long and dragged on into the night. Suzanne did her best to cleanse and change the bandaging on the wound, while The Virginian stood by and helped where he could. Sturdevant remained mostly unconscious, only flinching once when a particular movement brought on a stab of pain so intense it penetrated his senselessness.

At last Suzanne sank down at a table in the main room. Through the window behind her, the snow had already begun, falling slowly and then gathering speed, finally flying down sideways.

The Virginian sat down across from her. For a long moment neither of them spoke, Suzanne involved in her own thoughts and The Virginian not wanting to prompt her out of them before she was ready.

". . . I wonder what Louis is doing right now."

He looked to her as she spoke. She was gazing into the distance, her hands on top of the table. She was half-smiling, but it was sad, wistful. She traced a pattern on the wood with a finger.

"He talked sometimes about how cold the snow is and how he didn't really like it. In the past I didn't think he was talking about anything in specific, but I imagine now that he was thinking of battles he fought when it was snowing."

"Could be," The Virginian agreed with a noncommittal nod.

". . . This man you brought here, this Sturdevant." Suzanne glanced at the open bedroom door. "Louis thought that he and the people who sent him only wanted the forests for themselves if Louis's side won the battle."

"That's possible too."

"Maybe of them, but I wonder about this one. Did he even know what they had in mind? He acted so upset and indignant when Louis brought it up and accused him of being part of it. It could have been an act. I guess I thought it was." Suzanne sighed, looking back to The Virginian. "Now I don't know."

"Even if he knew, it's still quite a jump from taking part in a murder," said The Virginian.

"Yes, but people would still die and it would still be ultimately for a monetary reason." Suzanne looked thoughtful. "Maybe this man honestly believed in the revolution. Maybe he didn't have any other reasons for coming. The people who sent him might not have even told him the truth."

"We won't know anything until he can tell us himself," The Virginian replied. "And he might never be able to."

Suzanne looked down. "I hope Trampas is alright," she said quietly.

The Virginian glanced at the clock. "He should have got to town by now," he said.

"And he'll naturally be stranded until morning, if not longer," Suzanne sighed. "Look at the snow now—it's a blizzard."

". . . Last night Louis described the weather as a wind of outrage," The Virginian mused. "It looks like it might still be."

And what tragedies would the rest of the night and the next morning bring? He had thought that this part of the world had surely been attacked enough for the time being, by both nature and man. Now it looked like he had been wrong.

"How long do you think Mr. Sturdevant will last without professional medical aid?" Suzanne asked, her voice low.

The Virginian glanced to her as he stood, having been about to check on their patient. "It's hard to say," he admitted. "Most other men would have been dead long ago. But he's hung on."

"I wonder if it's mainly for himself . . . or if he has someone to hang on for." Suzanne got up, switching the subject before The Virginian had a chance to answer. "The fire is low. It's probably dying down in his room too."

"I'll put another log on," The Virginian promised.

Suzanne followed him in anyway, bending over Sturdevant while The Virginian tended to the fireplace.

"He's still alive," she said. "His pulse is weak but steady."

The Virginian nodded as he straightened. Sturdevant still had a chance. Hopefully Trampas would have found a doctor to bring back.

And hopefully they would get back safely—and in time.

xxxx

The town was small; Trampas had seen countless just like it throughout both the United States and Canada. It was late and dark when he arrived, the snow swirling in all directions. He made his way towards the only spot in town with the brightest lights—the saloon, of course. He would ask there whether there even _was_ a doctor for this town, and if so, where his office was located.

The place was rowdy and filled with cigar smoke. Several drunks were already talking so loudly and increasingly angrily that a fight was sure to follow. Trampas tried to get past them without interfering. The last thing he wanted right now was trouble. Maybe it was all but impossible for him to go this long without finding any, but he wanted to push his luck as far as he could.

The only patron who wasn't involved in yelling or talking or even drinking noisily was a lone figure in a corner, too far back for Trampas to see anything about him other than the gray hat pulled low over his eyes. But he could feel the stranger watching him. He didn't like it in the least. Maybe the guy was just curious, but maybe on the other hand he was scoping Trampas out as a possible target for robbery or trickery or whatever was on his mind.

The bartender was overworked and definitely overwhelmed, but he perked up as Trampas approached. "Well, hello!" he greeted in surprise and relief. "Trampas, right? It's good to have some sanity in here tonight."

Trampas gave a wry smirk. "A lot of bartenders have dreaded hearing my name," he remarked.

"I don't much care about the past; only the present, if it's different," the bartender replied. "But say, where's your friend?"

"Well, that's part of my problem," Trampas replied. "He's back at the Inn of the Weary Traveler with a badly wounded man. I need to find a doctor and take him back there."

"Oh, so you found that inn you were looking for?" The bartender looked interested, but then sighed. "Unfortunately, we don't have any doctor in these parts. The closest one is at least twelve miles away."

Trampas let out a frustrated sigh. "Then I'll just have to go after him," he declared.

"You can't go out in that storm!" the bartender exclaimed.

"If I wait, the man might die," Trampas countered. "What's the name and direction of the town with the doctor?"

"Pinetree Hill," the bartender admitted at last, grudgingly. "To the Southwest. But I don't like sending anyone away from here at this time of night. You might not ever get back!"

"You're not sending me away," Trampas returned. "I'm making up my own mind." He turned away from the bar. "Thanks."

He could feel the eyes of several people on him as he headed for the door. And as he drew near to it, the stranger in the corner suddenly got up and started towards him. He tensed, bracing himself for an attempted assault.

The Man came to a stop in front of him, sizing him up and down. Then, not speaking, he gestured to the door. Suspicious, Trampas didn't move. "Have you got friends out there or something?"

A shake of the head.

"Don't you talk?" Trampas wondered, immediately annoyed.

A smirk and a nod.

"Then why don't you?!"

Again the stranger pointed at the door.

"You'll talk outside," Trampas deduced. "Alright. But if this is a trick, I'm warning you . . ."

Another shake of the head.

Exasperated, Trampas went through the swinging doors and onto the porch. The silent man followed him and then went ahead, moving to the quieter edge of the building. Tense, Trampas trailed after him.

"Alright, what's this all about?" he demanded.

"I heard the bartender call you 'Trampas'," The Man said. "That's not a common name."

"What of it?" Trampas retorted.

"Do you have a friend who calls himself The Virginian?"

Now Trampas stared. "Do _you_ know him?!"

"Yes, I know him."

Trampas crossed his arms. "Would he have told me about you?"

A shrug. "He might have, but not under my real name. Neither of us believes that strongly in them. He doesn't know mine and I don't know his. He's called me Silent Sam."

"I guess that works as good as anything else." Trampas's eyes flickered with recognition. "He did mention you, or at least, someone by that name.

"But look, Sam, I'm in a hurry. The snow's only going to get worse and I have to get to the nearest town with a doctor."

"I know; I heard that, too."

"You have good ears, to hear over all that ruckus."

"I trained myself to hear things under all kinds of circumstances." Sam pointed back at the building. "I saw that several man were watching you in there, the kind of men whose attention you don't want to have. They know you might be carrying a lot of money with you. They were planning to ambush you as soon as you got outside. It was only when I came out with you that they started to have second thoughts."

"Then you must pull your weight around here really well," Trampas remarked.

"They know my reputation," Sam said. "I usually hire out as a bodyguard of sorts."

"Oh, so now we're getting to what you want," Trampas said. "You want me to hire you."

"I don't think you can afford not to," was the reply. "But no, you don't have to pay me. If The Virginian is mixed up in this, I'll help you without charge."

Trampas raised an eyebrow. "There must have been a lot more going on between you that he didn't tell me," he said.

"Maybe he figured it was private, for just us to know." Sam crossed his arms. "Well?"

"I don't have time to haggle over it," Trampas said. "Come with me if you want. Maybe I need you, maybe I don't. But if you're lying to me, you're going to wish you hadn't."

"I'm not lying," Sam said.

"We'll see." Trampas brushed past him, heading for his horse.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes: Thanks so much to everyone who commented! I think I was only able to personally respond to one of you, but all of your comments are very much appreciated. I'm glad to hear that I seem to be doing alright with characterization, for the most part. I hope that will continue. And I also hope I haven't forgotten any details of **_**The Wind of Outrage**_**, such as what The Virginian was aware of concerning Trampas and Suzanne's past. I own **_**The Fortress**_** and watch it off and on, but I've currently only seen **_**Wind**_** once.** **Chapter Two**

The night was growing colder.

Sturdevant weakly gripped the pillow, burrowing farther into it. At his bedside, Suzanne adjusted the quilt, something he processed only vaguely in his fevered mind.

The memories were colliding and separating, melding and fading. One would come to the forefront of his mind and then disappear just as quickly, its metamorphosis into another scene happening so seemingly naturally that in his delirious, dreamlike state, it felt completely normal.

"_Mr. Sturdevant?"_

"_Yes, Sir?"_

"_I've noticed that you take a particular interest in the revolution in Canada. Is there any particular reason why?"_

"_Only that I believe the rebels are in the right, Sir. It's wrong, how they were tricked and exploited by the people they trusted to help them."_

"_And you believe that everything they've done is right, including what happened to the Scotsman?"_

"_I can't say I fully agree with all of their methods and actions. But I do believe the Scotsman was a last, desperate effort, not something that would happen often or even ever again."_

"_You're not a violent man, are you, Mr. Sturdevant?"_

"_I try not to be, Sir."_

"_How would you like to do something to help the rebellion?"_

"_Could I? How?"_

"_You see, we all agree with you. And we've been discussing the matter of how we would all like to help them. We have each contributed some of the money in this box—a sum totaling ten thousand dollars. We want to deliver it to the former leader of the rebels and try to convince him to come out of retirement and use the money to revitalize the rebellion. With him in charge once again, and with the proper weaponry and funding, they would not lose._

"_The only problem is, we haven't been able to find a suitable courier for the money. It would have to be a very certain kind of person, you understand—someone who wouldn't just run off with the money all for himself. It would be quite a temptation for many people._

"_But even aside from your interest in the rebellion, you're an honest man, aren't you, Mr. Sturdevant?"_

"_Yes, Sir."_

"_Then we have chosen wisely. We have decided that you will be our representative and deliver the money and our message."_

"_I, Sir?!"_

"_That won't be a problem for you, I trust."_

"_No! No, not at all. I'd be honored."_

"_Then you will start tomorrow, bright and early. It will take a while to travel out there. The inn is an old Army fort in the middle of nowhere."_

Sturdevant jerked uneasily. He had been upset ever since his meeting with Louis the previous night. Not only had it been suggested that the men who had sent him really just wanted the Canadian forests for themselves, Sturdevant had been implicated as well. Insulted and angry, he had returned to his room, where he had stayed until receiving the communication from Jacques.

Of course _he_ had not had any thought of claiming the forests for the men he worked for. But he had been forced to start wondering . . . what had they really wanted? Had they taken advantage of him, of his honesty and integrity, to manipulate Louis into rejoining the revolution and possibly winning so they actually _could_ take the forests for themselves? If that were true, then he wanted no part of that any more than he had wanted to be part of Jacques' plot of murdering Louis.

Jacques . . . Jacques had stabbed him.

Was he really still alive? Was it _possible?_ Or was this what the afterlife was like? It certainly was a strange place, if so.

But there was pain. He had not thought there would be pain there. And every now and then he heard voices, vaguely familiar voices. A man and a woman. . . .

"Well, he's a bit more active than he was earlier, but I don't know if that's a good sign." The man.

"Why wouldn't it be?" The woman.

"If he moves around too much, he might hurt himself. And if he tries to get up, he might hurt somebody else. He had a fever when Trampas and I found him. I imagine it's only getting worse now."

A hand on his forehead. "It's quite bad."

"That's what I thought."

"Mr. Sturdevant?" The woman rested her hand on his shoulder. "You're safe now. Can you hear me?"

He could hear her, but he could not respond. He flinched slightly at the touch but then settled back into the bed. If these two were the only people with him, he was alright.

He thought so, anyway.

xxxx

Trampas was alternately keeping his eye on the road ahead—which was increasingly difficult in this blizzard—and watching the stranger whose horse was keeping pace with his.

Silent Sam was living up to The Virginian's nickname for him; he had not spoken a word since they had departed the town. But he was highly alert, mostly looking ahead but also from side to side and occasionally behind them. Trampas had the feeling that if there were trouble, Sam would be instantly capable of whipping out his gun and dispatching of said trouble.

"I thought you said those men didn't follow me out after you came around," Trampas said at last.

"I said they were having second thoughts. They could decide to go ahead with it anyway."

"Do you think we're really being followed or do you only think it _could_ happen?" Trampas frowned.

"I don't have any proof of it yet." Sam gripped the horse's reins.

"You say you hire out as a bodyguard. Is that what you were doing when you met The Virginian?"

"Yes. But I didn't hire out to him."

"Someone he met, then."

"Yes."

Trampas exhaled in exasperation. Here he was, riding with a man he had only just met, having to trust that the guy knew what he was talking about and was telling the truth—when he told anything at all. His preferred state seemed to be not speaking.

"How did The Virginian find out anything about you?" Trampas demanded. "You barely talk to me."

"The Virginian is the kind of man I can talk to."

"Oh, and I guess that means I'm not?"

"I don't know yet."

"But probably not. Right?"

"Probably. Just because I'll help a friend of The Virginian's doesn't mean I'll treat him like he _is_ The Virginian."

"Tell me something I don't know," Trampas grumbled. Part of him was growing thoroughly fed up with this partnership. The other part was admittedly relieved that he did not have to traverse the blizzard alone. Even if Sam was quiet, he was there. And he was someone to help out if there was trouble.

If Sam didn't cause the trouble himself.

Could anything he said really be trusted? Trampas knew The Virginian had spoke highly of the man he had called Silent Sam, but what proof did Trampas have that this was that person? He could have just learned of The Virginian and Sam's association and decided to fake it to get Trampas to trust him.

"For all I know, you're one of the men I have to watch out for," Trampas declared.

Sam shrugged.

"Who were you working for when The Virginian met you?" Trampas pressed.

"A man named Winthrop, here in Canada."

Trampas stiffened. Now that was a name he recognized too. "The Virginian had a lot of trouble from a man named Winthrop," he said. "And you're trying to tell me you were working for him but you and The Virginian ended up buddies?"

"I wouldn't say it like that, but that's basically how it was."

"Sure," Trampas mused. "The Virginian said that without you, he could've been dead."

"That's true. But he still would've died if he hadn't got his gun out quick."

Trampas shook his head, still not sure what to make of any of this. "You could have just heard the story somewhere," he said. "I still don't know that you're who you say you are."

"You can't know that until we get back to the inn and The Virginian sees me. Until then, you're just going to have to be patient and trust me." Sam smirked. "But you're not good at being patient, are you?"

Trampas glared daggers at him. "Did The Virginian tell you that?!"

Sam held up his forefinger as if to emphasize a point. "I told you I'm observant."

"You could be observing what you were already told," Trampas muttered.

Sam grinned. "I don't think I'll tell you which."

And then they were approaching a stretch of the road darkened by thick trees and overhanging branches on each side. Suddenly, Sam was stark serious. He pulled on the reins, bringing his horse to a halt in the swiftly piling snow. Then, signaling with his hand, he indicated for Trampas to stop as well, and to follow him off the path and into some nearby trees.

The mood change was so surprising and such a switch that Trampas just did as he was told, not speaking until they were hidden among the pines.

"What's going on?" he hissed then. "Is someone after us?" He frowned. "I can't believe that you could hear them over this howling wind and I couldn't."

Sam didn't answer. Instead he peered through the trees, watching the road. The snow, blowing harder still, was already concealing the evidence of their horses' hooves. For a long moment he stared, waiting. Then at last he relaxed, nodding to himself. He urged his horse to step back from the trees and towards the exit.

"This isn't some kind of a game!" Trampas exclaimed in annoyance and frustration.

"No, it isn't, which is why we have to make sure we're not being followed," Sam answered.

Trampas gritted his teeth. "I thought you must've actually heard or saw something. That man is probably going to be dead before we can ever get back to him with the doctor!" he cried.

"And you'll be dead if you're beaten up and left in this storm," Sam replied. "Even though you're an impatient one, you're not stupid."

"That's why I let you come with me," Trampas said. "Well, that and I thought it'd go faster with a guide."

"Or maybe you figured that if I'm telling the truth about being a friend of The Virginian, I'd be useful to have around."

"Maybe," Trampas said curtly. He checked himself and sighed. "Sorry. I know we have to be careful in case we're being followed. It's just that I don't think anyone's after us. And it's been a long day and night and I'm in a hurry to get back to the inn." He glanced around at the snow. "We haven't made a lot of progress, have we?"

"Some," said Sam. "But we'll be lucky to make it to Pinetree Hill before morning, with this storm. If it gets much worse, we'll have to find a place to bed down for the night. It'd be suicide to keep going."

"Then it'd better not get worse," Trampas said in determination.

Sam concurred. "Oh, and by the way, even if those men at the saloon aren't after us, we still have to be careful," he said. "The dark pass back there is often watched by highwaymen and stray thieves."

Trampas considered that and nodded slowly. "That makes sense," he said. "I guess the storm scared them off tonight."

"Maybe," Sam mused. "Sometimes they lead you into a false sense of security and then pounce when you least expect it."

"Well, that's just great," Trampas muttered in disgust. "So basically, we're not safe from anything until we get to Pinetree Hill."

Sam nodded. "And this is the only road between here and there, so when we get the doctor, we'll have to come back this same way."

Trampas exhaled. "It just keeps getting better and better," he said, the sarcasm dripping from his voice.

xxxx

Suzanne was growing more restless the longer the storm raged. She had long ago got up and was pacing the floor in the main room. Every few minutes or so she came back to check on Sturdevant, where The Virginian was sitting near the bed and trying to calm the wounded man when he became distressed.

"Moving around isn't going to make Trampas come back any faster," The Virginian said at last.

Suzanne threw her hands in the air. "Oh, I know," she sighed. "But . . ." She trailed off and turned away.

The Virginian nodded. "You're worried about him."

Suzanne sighed, crossing her arms. "I am," she said, "and Louis, too. I guess it feels kind of overwhelming . . . to have two men I've been close to out in this snowstorm and not knowing what's happening to either one of them."

"That'd be difficult," The Virginian agreed.

She turned to face him, leaning against the doorframe. "I don't know if Trampas told you anything about our past together, but well . . . it wasn't good."

"No happy memories when you met up again?" The Virginian mused.

"Hardly. I was terrible to Trampas, really. My partner in crime and I bilked him out of a lot of money."

"That would make Trampas feel mighty bitter, alright." The Virginian leaned back, studying her. "But it seemed like you parted on pretty good terms earlier today."

"We did, I think," Suzanne agreed. "I've changed since then and Trampas finally came to realize that it's true." She pushed away from the wall. "I was going to close up the inn and move back to Fargo. But now that this man is here, I'm not sure what I'll do. He won't be able to be moved for a while, will he?"

"I wouldn't think so," The Virginian said. "I'm sure the doctor will say the same thing. It's just too far to any town to think of moving him there until he's a lot better."

"If he gets better." Suzanne started to walk out of the room but then paused. "You don't think he hears us, do you?"

"He might," The Virginian replied. "At least sometimes."

A bit of guilt flashed across Suzanne's face. "Then I shouldn't be saying things like that. If he thinks we have little hope he'll make it . . ."

"Then I think he'll just fight all the harder to prove us wrong," The Virginian interjected. "He was lying out there for hours with everyone thinking he was dead. And that sure didn't stop him from living."

Suzanne smiled a bit. "You're probably right. No one could ever accuse Mr. Sturdevant of being weak. Maybe he trusted the wrong people, if he wasn't knowingly mixed up in their schemes at all, but that isn't a crime."

"If it was, just about the whole world would be criminals," said The Virginian. "I can't think of anyone I've met who trusted the right people all the time."

"Even yourself?" Suzanne quipped.

"Especially me, sometimes."

A sudden cry jerked both The Virginian and Suzanne to rigid attention. Sturdevant was pushing himself up from the bed, his eyes open but glazed and wild.

"Uhoh." The Virginian got to his feet, reaching out for Sturdevant with his good arm. "It's alright," he tried to say. "You're safe here, remember? The only things you have to worry about is fighting that fever and staying alive."

But in Sturdevant's tortured mind, the latter was exactly what he was worrying about now. To him, he was seeing Jacques, coming at him with the bloodied knife in his hand.

"_So, you are still alive?"_ the hallucination remarked. _"I cannot have that. You will talk about what I told you."_ And Jacques lunged, aiming for Sturdevant's heart with the blade.

Sturdevant was leaping off the bed in the next moment, tackling The Virginian to the floor. The Virginian's face scrunched in pain as his wounded shoulder hit the hardwood. Trying to ignore the pain, he struggled to fight Sturdevant off with his uninjured arm. Suzanne screamed.

Sturdevant grabbed The Virginian's right wrist, squeezing it as he tried to force the nonexistent blade out of the hand. With no other options, The Virginian tried to push him back with his left hand.

"Sturdevant, listen to me," The Virginian pleaded through gritted teeth. "I'm not trying to hurt you. And I don't want to have to hurt you to keep you from hurting me. But you're not leaving me a lot of choice."

Sturdevant moved back, looking as though he was ready to punch his imagined enemy.

Suzanne swallowed hard as she observed the scene. Then, quickly, she started to step forward. "Mr. Sturdevant?" she called. "Please stop this. You're hurting yourself as well as The Virginian. Your back is bleeding again." It was true—she could see the crimson through the bandage.

Sturdevant paused, breathing heavily. He did not look to her, but at least he wasn't currently trying to strike anyone, either.

"I'll help you get back into bed," Suzanne continued. She drew closer, but did not yet dare to reach out for him.

The Virginian stayed silent, not sure whether speaking up would help or hinder the situation. He also stayed very still, watching Sturdevant, and praying that Suzanne could break through the fog over his mind.

"You really need to rest," Suzanne was saying. "It's the only way you'll get better."

Sturdevant looked to her, finally, and seemed to see her and not a mirage. He started to try to get up, but stumbled forward with a pained grunt.

Suzanne reached his side and tried to steady him. He let her, his cheeks red from either the fever or mortification or both.

The Virginian watched as she helped him back onto the edge of the bed. Still shaking, and looking dizzy, Sturdevant started to lie back down. He either fell asleep or passed out almost immediately, as he slumped down the rest of the way, sinking into the pillow and the mattress.

In relief, The Virginian sat up, clenching his teeth against the pain in his left shoulder. His right hand flew up to the spot. He was probably bleeding again, too.

Suzanne looked to him in apologetic concern. "Are you alright?" she exclaimed.

The Virginian nodded. "He really packs quite a blow, for being almost dead a while ago," he remarked. "If he'd known Jacques was going to stab him in the woods, I bet Jacques never would have got the chance."

Suzanne looked from The Virginian to Sturdevant. "I'd better try to help him first," she said, still apologetic. "But I'll get to you as soon as I can."

The Virginian nodded. "This wounded shoulder hasn't ever been serious," he said. "He needs help first. I'll give you a hand . . ." But he grimaced in pain as he started to stand. Being knocked to the floor had rattled the wound more than he had thought.

"Please, just sit down," Suzanne begged. "You're hurt too. I can manage. Anyway, you might just slow me up."

A sigh. "I guess that's possible," The Virginian consented.

He sank onto the chair by the bed. "How is he?"

Suzanne sighed. "Unconscious." She washed her hands in the basin on the dresser and returned to the bed with a roll of bandages. "Here's hoping that when he wakes up again, he'll know where he is and who he's with."

"I'll go along with that," The Virginian said.

And he hoped that by the next time Sturdevant awakened, Trampas and the doctor would have already arrived.

From the force of the blizzard outside, that seemed more and more unlikely.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes: I reviewed Sturdevant's scenes in **_**The Wind of Outrage**_** and realized I had neglected to address a very important plot point concerning him. So I had to slip it in here. I love him even more now. And concerning some of the stuff I've been thinking up for "Sam" in this chapter, I kind of had the impression at the end of **_**The Fortress**_** that he might be planning to go back to Shiloh with The Virginian. (Or he might have instead had the mindset of "Business as usual", as per Trampas's friend in **_**The Deadly Past**_**, but I rather thought not.) Hence, I then had to figure out what happened to him and why he wasn't around after that.**

The Virginian frowned to himself as he sat in the chair beside the bed, watching and waiting.

Sturdevant was still unconscious, burrowed into the pillow and sounding pained when he breathed.

Suzanne was out of the room, half-heartedly trying to make something to eat for her and The Virginian. They had both been so concerned about tending to Sturdevant that neither of them had eaten dinner yet. It had been while she had been tending to The Virginian's shoulder that they had realized they were thoroughly starved.

The Virginian stayed where he was, not wanting to be in the way with only one good arm. Instead he gazed into the distance, deeply in thought. There was something he had not told Trampas about the incident in the woods, mostly due to the fact that he had been rather disoriented when it had happened.

He owed his life in large part to Sturdevant.

When Jacques had fired on him, hitting him in the shoulder, it had been Sturdevant who had rushed over in outrage and wrenched the rifle away. The Virginian had heard him loudly proclaiming that he would not have any part in a murder.

In his dazed state, The Virginian had originally thought Sturdevant was responding only to the evil plan Jacques had concocted for Louis. Only later, when things had calmed down, had he realized that Sturdevant had also meant he would not stand by and allow Jacques to kill The Virginian. And Jacques might very well have done just that, if Sturdevant had not been there—or if Sturdevant had not been a man of high integrity.

Poor Sturdevant would be stricken if he knew how he had attacked The Virginian in his delirium.

The Virginian sighed, pulling the quilt up more firmly around him and praying both for his recovery and Trampas's safe return.

He frowned, tilting his head to the side.

It was eerie. When he looked at Sturdevant in just a certain way, he felt that Sturdevant vaguely resembled an old friend. The Virginian had never known his name, but names had not really been needed. He had christened the fellow Silent Sam.

His eyes flickered. Sam had come back with him from Canada, having decided that he had found something more worthwhile than hiring out as a bodyguard and killer. But ranch life had not agreed with him and some of the hands had distrusted him. He had finally told The Virginian that he needed to get away and think for a while, but that he would keep in touch.

He had, too—until several months later when there was a terrible rainstorm and flood in the town where he had last been. After not hearing back for some time, The Virginian had written to his last known address. The Sheriff had written back, saying that a man like Sam had died during the storm. He had found some of The Virginian's letters among the man's effects.

The news had been a blow. The Virginian always hated to lose a good friend, and it was even worse when he never saw it coming. He had not even considered that Sam was dead.

He had ridden out to the town after receiving the Sheriff's reply, but there was no real way to find closure. Out of the people he had spoken to, several of them had not remembered Sam at all. Several others had, but had been spooked by his almost-constant silence. One or two had mentioned attempting to talk to him but not receiving much in the way of a response.

The great majority of the townspeople had also figured that Sam had likely been up to no good. They were by and large just relieved to be rid of him.

The town's Boot Hill was like many others that The Virginian had seen—lonely and cold, filled with the graves of those who had died in unrest. He really wasn't one to believe in ghosts, but it wasn't too hard to imagine that if such things did exist, there could be some hanging around places like that.

Sam's grave was near the edge, under a tree. The only thing on the marker was the carved name "Sam", which had been decided on after the discovery of The Virginian's letters, which had all been addressed to _Sam._

The Virginian had lingered for a time, gazing at the grave and becoming swept up in his thoughts and memories and regrets of the past. He had spoken some words of farewell, resting his hand on the carved cross before turning and trudging away.

He had left the town after that.

Perhaps that was one reason why he had never talked much about Sam to his other close friends, including Trampas. They had both lost friends, some mutual, but it just wasn't their nature to talk about it. The Virginian had preferred to simply try to move on.

He sighed. Sturdevant could not be further from Sam in personality. But they did have one thing in common—they had each saved his life.

xxxx

Trampas had been deep in thought for some time. Sam was not talking again and the wind had been howling for the past hour or so. Both things had rendered a conversation quite impractical and mostly downright impossible. But a sudden thought jumping into Trampas's mind made him jerk upright and look to his traveling companion.

"Hey!" he cried over the wail of the blizzard.

Sam looked to him, questions in his eyes.

"Something still isn't right," Trampas frowned. "Sam went to Shiloh with The Virginian. I was off on ranch business at the time and heard about it later. He cut out after a while. Later, The Virginian said something about finding out that an old friend was dead. He wouldn't say much more than that, but . . ."

Sam looked honestly shocked. "You can see I couldn't be the one he meant," he exclaimed.

"Unless you decided you were tired of having ties with someone and cut them by faking your death," Trampas retorted. "The Virginian never did talk about you after that. Not that he ever said much, but there _had_ been something . . . until after he said someone died."

"You've got a suspicious mind." But Sam looked troubled. "Did he say anything else about the person who died?"

"He said something about a bad storm and the Sheriff writing to tell him about the death." Trampas narrowed his eyes, peering at the stranger.

Sam gripped the horse's reins. "There was a storm," he admitted at last. "I was in it, and I almost died in it. _Almost._"

"That doesn't explain much," Trampas said coldly.

"Someone recognized me—someone who'd got on my old boss's bad side and was bitter for it. He saw a chance to get even with his enemy's bodyguard and left me for dead in the flood. When he saw me hanging on some old branch caught near the edge of the water, he made sure it pulled free and took me down the current. He took my belongings with him back to town for good measure and reported that I was dead."

Trampas frowned. It was possible, he had to admit that. But there were still questions. "And who was that supposed to be?" he asked.

"The town's Sheriff."

Trampas exhaled. "I should've seen that one coming." He glared daggers at the other man. "But it doesn't explain why you never went back to The Virginian or wrote to him or something. Obviously you don't have amnesia. You've just let him think you were dead! It must have been you he meant!"

"I _did_ write to him," Sam answered immediately. "As soon as I was well enough. It takes a long time to come back from being more than half dead. I told him I'd been laid up while trying my hand at my old kind of work. And I said I was coming back. I never got an answer to that. I figured he was out on a cattle drive."

"When did you send that?" Trampas demanded.

"Almost a month ago." Sam rubbed subconsciously at his arm. "I was going to go down there anyway, but then someone wanted me for one last job. Since I thought he wasn't back, I decided to take it. And just as I've finished up with that, you came along."

Trampas leaned back, thinking hard on what he was being told. "Maybe you're telling the truth," he said at last. "Or maybe you aren't. I just don't know what to think."

"Then you're going to have to stay suspicious for a long time yet," Sam answered. "And this storm is getting too bad for us to keep going tonight. We have to find some shelter somewhere."

"No," Trampas retorted, even as the fierce snow slapped his cheeks. "Not yet. If we don't keep going, someone else is probably going to die."

"And if we do keep going, The Virginian loses two friends," Sam said flatly. "_And_ this other person will die. If we stop, we'll have a better chance of still getting to that doctor in the morning."

Trampas scowled. He knew how dangerous winter storms could be, especially when they were this strong. Maybe he was resisting solely because he still didn't know that he wanted to take this character's word on anything.

But he heaved a sigh. Sam had finally made sense about something. Maybe it was time for Trampas to take a leap of faith and believe him.

"Okay," he conceded. "We'll look for a place to bed down."

Sam regarded him in approval. "Good choice."

xxxx

The only available place to take shelter in the area seemed to be in an old cave deep in the trees. The dark shape of the opening did not look particularly friendly; it glowered at them from amid the swirling white.

Trampas and Sam approached the opening cautiously. One horse shook his head and sniffed, but the other was rather blasé about the whole matter. He simply stood blankly, twitching his ears.

"It's empty," Trampas reported after going to the doorway and holding up the lantern. "It doesn't go back very far." It looked like it was going to be crowded, especially with both of their horses, but Trampas shivered and decided to be grateful that there was any place for them at all.

Sam just nodded. It was good enough. It pretty much had to be.

They got down and led their horses inside. The beasts promptly moved to the back, as far away from the wind and snow as possible. Sighing, Trampas followed and took down the blankets from his horse. "Do you have any?" he asked.

Again Sam nodded. He was quiet once more.

Trampas shook his head, burrowing into the covers and sinking to the floor. "This is going to be a long night," he muttered.

Sam smirked, just slightly.

"Were you always this quiet?" Trampas found himself asking.

A shrug. "Unless I had a good reason to talk. I found that a lot of things didn't need words to get said."

"And you also found that a lot of people weren't worth talking to," Trampas said dryly.

"That too."

Trampas pulled the blankets closer around him. He wasn't tired, and he wasn't sure he wanted to sleep anyway, when he didn't really know this character.

"You said you told The Virginian you were going to come back," he said at last. "Are you planning to try the ranch life again after all?"

Silence. "No, I thought I'd see if anyone in town needed a bodyguard first. Maybe even your ranch. That's what I'm good at."

Trampas shrugged. "We could probably use something like that."

"I thought you might. Shiloh's a big ranch. Well-known, too."

Trampas fell silent now, just listening to the swirling wind ahead of them and the horses snorting behind them. It felt very lonely all of a sudden. But he was used to that.

". . . You don't happen to know a fella named Sturdevant, do you?" he blurted all of a sudden. Then, taken aback by his own question, he stopped and shook his head. Where in the world had _that_ come from? He couldn't think of any reason why Sam should know Sturdevant.

"I can't say I do. Is he someone important?"

"He works for who he claims are three of the biggest fur trappers on the continent," Trampas replied.

"Hmm. He must be doing pretty well for himself then."

"Yeah, I'd say so." Trampas stared into the distance.

"There's a reason why you're interested in him all of a sudden."

Trampas sighed. "Yeah, there is," he admitted. "He's the one who needs a doctor."

"And you're wondering if he's a decent human being."

A frown crossed Trampas's features. "I guess that would sum it up," he said slowly. "Only I think I already know the answer. He saved one man's life, and I don't know but what he saved The Virginian's, too."

Sam slowly nodded. "But someone doesn't have to be a particularly decent person, to save someone else's life," he mused.

"Well, they can't be all bad," Trampas returned.

"It depends at least somewhat on why they're saving the life," said Sam. "Sometimes there's some awfully selfish reasons."

"I don't think his reasons were selfish," Trampas frowned. "He's dying because of it."

Sam shrugged. "Then as far as you're concerned, you've already got your answer. Why are you even asking me?"

Trampas sighed in frustration. "I don't know. Maybe I'm just trying to keep up the conversation."

"We'll be here all night. Maybe you should think about getting some sleep."

"Yeah, maybe I should," Trampas muttered. "But not until you're asleep."

Sam grinned wickedly. "I might pretend."

"Well, I might do that too," Trampas returned.

"Maybe. Only I'm not worried about you the way you are about me. Whether you dozed off for real or were just pretending wouldn't matter either way to me."

"So you don't think I'm the kind of person you could talk to, but you also figure I'm harmless," Trampas deduced.

"Harmless to me," Sam said lazily. "As long as I don't do anything to you, you won't do anything to me. And I don't plan to do anything to you. I have every reason not to."

"Including that The Virginian would be very upset if you did," Trampas said.

Sam nodded. "Especially that. And the fact that there wouldn't be any purpose in it."

"Maybe you'd be after the money those other guys think I have."

"Money isn't everything."

Trampas gave Sam a Look. "It's kind of weird, hearing someone in your profession say that."

Sam just shrugged.

Trampas sighed in exasperation. Hopefully, when they came back this way with the doctor, he would be more talkative than this guy.

xxxx

"Here, you'd better try to eat something."

The Virginian looked up with a start at Suzanne's voice. She had come back into the bedroom and was proffering a bowl of soup.

"That smells real good," he smiled, accepting it. "Thank you."

Suzanne smiled too. "How is Mr. Sturdevant?"

The Virginian glanced to him. "Still sleeping. Or unconscious. Maybe this'll bring him around." He indicated the steaming bowl.

"Well, there's plenty for him, if he wakes up and feels well enough to eat," Suzanne said. She soon produced a bowl as well and sat near the doorway to dine.

"What time is it, anyway?" The Virginian mused.

"I'm not sure you want to know," Suzanne replied.

"That bad?" The Virginian sounded a lot more casual than he felt. He turned his attention to the food.

"You're wondering about Trampas too," Suzanne said quietly.

"The storm's worse," The Virginian nodded, glancing at the window. "He's probably had to bed down somewhere, if he found a place."

"And if he didn't . . ." Suzanne let the sentence trail off.

"Then I don't know where he could be," The Virginian answered.

Sturdevant jumped a mile in the bed. His eyes snapped open, wide, wild, and confused.

The Virginian and Suzanne both tensed, unsure if he was still suffering from his delirium.

"Hello there," The Virginian greeted, friendly but careful.

Sturdevant stared at him for a moment, searching, still confused. But then he sighed, sinking back into the mattress and the pillow. "I thought you were dead, Sir," he mumbled. "I thought that man killed you after he attacked me."

"I got away," The Virginian said. "But I probably wouldn't have, if you hadn't been there."

"I'm glad," Sturdevant answered. "At least I managed to do something right." He fell silent, gathering his strength. "This entire trip has been a disaster."

"That wasn't your fault, Mr. Sturdevant," Suzanne spoke up.

"I suppose," Sturdevant mumbled.

"How are you feeling?" The Virginian queried. "You've kept us mighty worried for a while."

"I'm sorry." Sturdevant closed his eyes, looking weary. "I . . . I've seen better days."

"I'm sure you have," The Virginian acknowledged. "But you could be seeing worse ones."

"We're trying to get a doctor here, Mr. Sturdevant," Suzanne said. "Trampas is out looking for one."

"Trampas?" Sturdevant sounded vague. "I'll thank him when he comes back."

"I guess you don't feel up to eating," The Virginian said.

"Thank you. Maybe later." Sturdevant sighed, starting to slip out of awareness again.

Suzanne bit her lip. "Well, at least he isn't delirious now," she said quietly.

The Virginian nodded. He hoped that their brief conversation was an indication of improvement, and not instead a short recovery of senses before Death took over.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The remainder of the night was long and cold. Trampas tossed and turned restlessly, burrowed into the blankets and wondering, even while asleep, about the full identity of the man with whom he was traveling.

What if there was a chance that Sam's story wasn't entirely accurate, at least about surviving the flood? Images of reaching for him and catching only air danced through Trampas's mind. It was crazy to even consider that he was traveling with a ghost, and yet . . . well, why not? This situation was already pretty darn weird.

Trampas snapped awake. It was still fairly dark, although it could be from the storm and not from the night. Sam was slumped against the opposite wall, apparently asleep.

An idea popped into Trampas's mind. It was silly, and it was strange, but he would never get a better chance to do it. He crept across the space between them and slowly reached out, brushing his fingers against Sam's shoulder.

He only touched flesh and bone for the briefest of moments before the gun clicked and pointed right at him.

Trampas swallowed hard. "Take it easy," he said. "It's just me."

Sam, his eyes dangerous but still filled with sleep, focused. "What do you think you're doing?" he grunted, moving the gun away. "You should know better than to sneak up on a hired gun like that."

Trampas flushed. He was certainly not about to admit that he had been checking to make sure he was traveling with a living person. "I was . . . trying to wake you up," he bluffed. "We should get going again."

Sam glanced out the cave door and nodded, seeming to accept that explanation. "Alright," he agreed. "We'll eat something, gather the stuff, and head out."

But someone else had other ideas. As the mismatched pair guided their horses to the cave entrance moments later, guns clicked from every direction outside.

"Just throw down your weapons nice and slow," came an unfamiliar, but definitely deadly, voice.

Trampas exchanged a displeased look with Sam. "Look, you're making a mistake," he said. "I'm not carrying any money."

"We know you came to these parts to get a bundle," the disembodied voice replied.

"Yeah, and it's with a friend now," said Trampas.

"We'll make sure of that, if you don't mind." The highwaymen started to slink out from around the sides of the cave door. Trampas recognized them from the saloon.

"And then you'll gun us down," he said flatly.

"Oh, what makes you think that?" Now the voice was condescending and falsely friendly.

Suddenly Trampas realized that Sam had not put down his gun. He was holding it, but in the shadows, out of sight. ". . . I thought you wanted to leave us alone because of my traveling companion," Trampas said.

Sam raised his arm without warning, shooting the weapon out of one man's hand. Trampas took the initiative to snatch up his own gun and shoot at the second man's gun. When the third man appeared, Trampas and Sam both fired at the same time.

"You made a big mistake," Trampas smirked. "You should've kept to that idea of leaving us alone."

The first man glowered. "Actually, we're not really here for your money," he said. "We'll get paid ten times that by someone else."

Sam's eyes narrowed. Trampas was instantly on guard too. "For what?" he demanded.

"For taking your traveling companion back with us," was the reply. "There's someone who won't be happy at all to see he's still among the living. He'll want to personally see that's changed."

"Hand him over and maybe you'll get a cut of the take," said the second man.

Sam had stiffened. He was sure he knew who the party was—the corrupt Sheriff in the flooded town. He looked to Trampas with searching eyes, wondering what Trampas would decide. He curled his fingers tighter around his gun. If Trampas betrayed him, he would shoot. He would not die here if he could help it. But he had confidence in a close friend of The Virginian, after the way Trampas had been spoken of by him.

"He's been straight with me as far as I know," Trampas said. "And I'm not going to just hand over somebody so you can see he gets killed. Especially when it doesn't seem to me that he deserves it."

Sam started to smirk, pleased. He gestured with his gun, motioning for the trio to come inside the cave. Uneasy, they slowly complied, not having much other choice with both guns on them.

Together, Trampas and Sam started to unwind one of the ropes that had been packed. "We'll just tie you all together and leave you here while we go on to town," Trampas said. "You should be alright here until the law comes to get you."

The mercenaries glared as they were made to stand together and tightly bound with the rope. "There's going to be others besides us, you know," one said, "if word gets back that this man really is still alive."

"Then we'll just have to make sure the wrong people don't hear about it," Trampas said calmly. He and Sam pulled the rope into several tight knots and then stepped back, gathering the guns. "We'll take your horses too, so that even if you get free, you'll have to stay in here if you know what's good for you."

Sam went outside and began to look through the strange horses' packs. Finding one with some of the riders' food, he brought it in and set it in the far corner of the cave. The trapped men looked at it.

"There's no sense leaving you to starve altogether," Trampas said. "Not that it should take that long to get someone back here." He grinned a bit in triumph as he moved towards the door. "See you in town."

Sam smirked after them as he followed Trampas out.

"Who do you think they were talking about?" Trampas frowned as they got the other horses ready to travel with their own.

"There's more than one person who'd like to see me dead," Sam admitted. "But it's probably the man who tried to make sure it happened."

"That Sheriff," Trampas said.

Sam nodded. "What I'd like to know is how those people found out about his feelings." He glanced to Trampas. "You probably could have made a lot of money by turning against me."

"Well, I guess we have one thing in common," Trampas replied. "We both know and care about The Virginian and aren't about to do anything to let him down." He paused. "But since I let you off the hook, how do you feel about talking to me now?"

"I feel alright about it," Sam said calmly. "Just don't expect any real deep talking."

Trampas glowered. "You drive a hard bargain."

Sam shrugged. "You don't really seem like someone who'd _want_ to talk deep much, if at all. Especially with a near-stranger."

"Yeah, well, looks can be deceiving," Trampas retorted. Although he supposed Sam had a point, he wasn't about to admit it.

Sam responded by climbing onto his horse and snapping the reins. The horse took off trotting through the snow, two of the others trailing behind it.

"Hey! Wait up!" Trampas yelled, hastening to follow.

Sam glanced over his shoulder with a bit of a mischievous smirk, not slowing down by much.

Rolling his eyes, Trampas spurred his horse on to catch up. The snow kicked up and flew in all directions as the animals galloped through it. Trampas reached to brush some out of his eyes, spitting some out of his mouth at the same time.

"We shouldn't be too far from that town now," Sam said. "With any luck, we'll be there in two or three hours."

"Well, glory be," Trampas muttered half-sarcastically. "You're not going to keep running out ahead of me, are you?"

Sam shrugged but said, "Nah. Not when we have these other horses to drag along with us."

"Good," Trampas shot back. "I don't want to be eating snow the whole way there."

Sam laughed. "Maybe you should think about it. We didn't stop for much of a meal before we set out."

"That wasn't my idea," Trampas retorted.

"No, but you were worried about hurrying," Sam said. "And if that guy is as bad off as you said, we shouldn't be stopping any more than we have to."

Trampas sighed, knowing that was true. "Okay," he consented. "We'll just keep going."

Sam nodded in approval.

Trampas scowled as his stomach started to vocalize its displeasure.

A proper meal was just going to have to wait.

xxxx

The morning sun was obscured by the heavy snow-filled clouds, but at least the blizzard conditions had lessened and the flakes were falling more calmly.

Sturdevant slowly opened his eyes, looking to the snow floating past the window. The room was quiet; the man from earlier was slumped in a chair, apparently asleep, and the woman was absent.

After a moment of trying to sit up, Sturdevant grimaced and abandoned the effort, sinking back into the mattress on his left side. His back was still burning. And he was very dizzy, probably from blood loss. He would have to just rest.

The man on the chair started, as if waking from a strange dream. He looked over, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. "Hello again," he greeted. "How are you feeling today?"

"Pained," Sturdevant mumbled.

"I'm sorry about that," the man replied. "I wish there was something that could really help with that. Trampas isn't back yet, so it's just you, me, and Suzanne."

"What is your name, Sir?" Sturdevant asked. "I'm trying to think whether I was told, but I'm afraid my mind is blank."

"Oh, you can just call me The Virginian," was the answer. "Everyone does. It's a good enough name."

Sturdevant raised a weary eyebrow. "I don't understand. Is there a reason why you don't go by a more . . . standard name?"

The Virginian shrugged. "No real reason. I just haven't found a need to use a more standard name since I came out West."

"I would think someone would have to be in trouble to leave their name behind," said Sturdevant.

"Not always," said The Virginian.

He started to get up from the chair. "Can I get you anything? Are you hungry?"

"I _am_ hungry," Sturdevant admitted, "but I can't figure out how to eat in a position that won't further aggravate my back."

"That is a problem," The Virginian frowned. "Can you move at all?"

"Not without more pain and probably more blood." Sturdevant sighed after another failed attempt, sinking back into the mattress. "I don't want to tear it open worse. Perhaps I'll wait a while longer for your friend Trampas."

"It could be a long while," The Virginian said. "With any luck, he might be in the town by now and fixing to leave. On the other hand, if he got caught in the storm, he might have had to wait it out until today and he won't reach the town till later."

He did not mention the other possibility—that Trampas could be lying somewhere, frozen to death. Of course he was worried, but he knew Trampas could take care of himself. Tragic deaths could come to even the most well-prepared, but he would focus on believing that Trampas was alive and would be back.

"That's true," Sturdevant admitted with unease. "I'll see how I feel in an hour."

The Virginian nodded agreeably. "Alright."

He fell silent, studying the wounded man with a thoughtful look in his eye. After a moment Sturdevant met his gaze, visibly uncomfortable. "Is there a problem?" he wanted to know.

The Virginian started back to the present. "Oh. No, no problem," he tried to say with reassurance. "I was just thinking how you kind of remind me of someone."

Sturdevant looked as though he was not sure whether to take this as a good thing or not. "Who? Someone reputable, I hope." He still felt the sting of Louis's accusations from the other night. And, knowing that the men he represented had most likely duped him, he was angry and disgusted with himself and his naiveté and the position into which he had placed himself by coming to Canada.

"Well . . ." The Virginian hesitated. "He wasn't the type who would turn up in most good social circles, I'll admit that. But he was a good man and a good friend. I guess it's mostly that you sort of look like him. Although both you and he have saved my life. I should thank you for that."

"You've been attempting to save _my_ life," Sturdevant returned. "That's more than enough thanks."

He frowned a bit, not entirely keen on the idea that he resembled someone of bad repute. "This other man," he said at last. "Who was he and what happened to him?"

"Let's say he was a bodyguard," The Virginian responded. "He got caught in a flood a few months ago. The flood won out."

"I'm sorry."

"I am, too." The Virginian half-smiled, sadly. "I know it's just foolishness, but I guess when I realized you looked so much like him, I started having these thoughts that maybe you _were_ him, suffering from amnesia and having taken on a whole new life and identity."

"I'm not, Mr . . . Virginian. Amnesia is one malady from which I've never suffered, I'm relieved to say."

"That's good," The Virginian nodded. "I really knew it was just the slimmest chance. You're completely his opposite in your basic personality. And I was at his grave, back in the town that flooded out. It was just wishful thinking."

"I understand." Sturdevant paused. "Am I also to understand that you did not see your friend's body, only his grave?"

"That's right." The Virginian frowned in confusion. "What are you getting at?"

"I'm wondering. If he was, as you say, a _bodyguard_, then he must have had a great number of enemies." From the way Sturdevant emphasized "bodyguard", it was clear that he had caught that it was largely a euphemism for something else.

"He probably did," The Virginian acknowledged.

"Then . . . and please forgive me if this is blunt or uncalled-for, but . . . are you sure his death came from the flood?"

The Virginian stiffened. "You're saying you're wondering if somebody could've murdered him," he realized.

Sturdevant lowered his voice. "Is it possible?"

The Virginian looked down, considering the query. "Yes," he admitted. "It's possible. Only . . ." He frowned more. "The Sheriff was the one who told me about what happened. And he sure seemed to think it was the flood that did poor Sam in. There apparently weren't any marks on the body, such as bullet holes or knife wounds."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, understanding dawned. "Unless . . ." A chill went up his spine. "The Sheriff did something himself and used the flood as an excuse. . . ."

"Not all lawmen are as upright as they should be," Sturdevant said quietly. "Many are little more than hired guns and outlaws. And others, even if they begin as honest men, can negatively change."

"That's all sadly true. I never had a reason to doubt what this Sheriff said, but . . ." The Virginian shook his head, deeply troubled by this possibility. "Maybe once you're on the mend and we get back to the States, I'll go back to that town and dig around a little more."

Sturdevant regarded him in concern. "If something isn't right, you could be the next victim," he pointed out.

"I owe it to Sam to find out what happened," The Virginian insisted. "Now you've put a seed of doubt in my mind, Friend. I have to make sure. No matter what Sam did with his life, he didn't deserve to be cut down in cold blood."

"No, I suppose not."

The Virginian stood, restless now. Had he been completely blind? He knew the flood had been real, and the Sheriff's reputation was clean, so he had not given the explanation for Sam's death a second thought. Nothing had seemed out of sorts. Skilled men died in natural disasters all the time. It _had_ been hard to imagine a flood being the means of sending Sam out of this world, considering all the other things he had survived, but such was the irony of life, sometimes.

"I'm sorry," Sturdevant said, breaking into his thoughts. "I've upset you. Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything yet, when you have no way of getting to that town for some time."

"No," The Virginian replied. "You should have told me now, and I'm grateful you did. I'll have time to really think about it until I can do something about it. I shouldn't go marching into anything half-cocked."

He sighed. "Of course, maybe there's nothing to it. Maybe it really was just the flood and not someone trying to kill Sam. But I want to make sure, one way or the other."

"If I can be of any help to you . . ." Sturdevant started to offer.

"You just think about getting better," The Virginian interjected. "That's the most important thing and what'll help me the most."

Sturdevant nodded. "But perhaps when I _am _better, I can do something for you. If you don't mind my asking, what is the name of the town?"

"Paradise Creek." The Virginian's voice turned bitter and ironic with this statement.

". . . And the creek is what flooded." Sturdevant frowned. "What state is it in?"

"Nebraska. I don't know why Sam decided to go all the way out there," The Virginian added quietly.

"Paradise Creek, Nebraska." Sturdevant looked thoughtful. "I've been there."

The Virginian looked to him with a start. "How long ago?"

"I was last there several months ago. I . . . I may have gotten out shortly before the flood."

"Do you remember seeing someone who looked kind of like you?" The Virginian asked pleadingly.

"I can't say. I'm sorry."

The Virginian sighed. "Well, I'm sure you'd remember if you had. Seeing one's double seems like something that'd be hard to forget."

"Hmm. Unless I didn't see the same resemblance you do," Sturdevant replied with a wry smile.

"That's possible too," The Virginian conceded.

". . . I do recall seeing someone arguing with the Sheriff, however," Sturdevant said after a moment. "The Sheriff said he wasn't going to let the man out of his sight. And . . . he also said something about hurting someone named Winthrop by not letting the man go back to him."

The Virginian went stiff. "It was Sam," he breathed, his heart sinking. "Did you hear what he said?"

"He said he didn't work for Winthrop anymore, so it wouldn't affect Winthrop. The Sheriff didn't believe him at first."

"And later?"

"He seemed to feel that it could be true, but he wasn't going to let the man go in any case. He said he was angry with the man he was talking to as well as with Winthrop. I honestly thought the stranger was some sort of criminal and that the Sheriff meant he would lock him up. If I'd ever once thought he meant something sinister instead, I would have intervened."

"I know you would have."

This information disturbed The Virginian even more. The Sheriff had not mentioned any such clash between him and Sam. If it had not led to foul play, why wouldn't he have said something about it?

"If you'll excuse me, Mr. Sturdevant, I think I'll go see if Suzanne is up," he said now. He _would_ check, but he also wanted a bit of time to himself, to think about what he had been told. Within a few minutes, he had gone from believing Sam's death to be a tragic accident to fearing that he actually could have been murdered. It was not sitting well with him at all.

"Of course." Sturdevant seemed to realize that there was more to The Virginian's desired departure than what he voiced, but he did not offer a protest.

Instead he sighed, resting against the pillow and wondering what would have happened if he _had_ intervened.

Perhaps he could have saved a man's life.

On the other hand, perhaps they would have only both been killed.

He closed his eyes. It was pointless to wonder about it now. He was a practical man and he knew that all too well.

But he wondered anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes: Since I needed a doctor to be a very important supporting character, I decided that instead of creating one, I would use one of the many awesome doctor characters floating around in classic television land. I chose Dr. Travers, a character Richard Anderson played in **_**The Big Valley **_**episode **_**The Last Train to the Fair.**_** I don't know what the time period difference is between that episode and the two **_**Virginian**_** ones I'm drawing from, since **_**The Virginian**_**'s time period bounces all over the place from the 1880s through the 1890s, so I tried to be as vague about it as possible. Suffice it to say that this story comes at least several years after the **_**Big Valley**_** episode. I'm excited to get this character in here; I get so attached to oneshot characters, especially when they're played by actors I adore!**

The longer Sturdevant laid in bed, awake, the more he thought about the last several months, leading up to the past few days and what had happened to him on this blasted trip.

Overall, he was very displeased with the whole turnout. On the one hand, he really wished he hadn't come. But on the other, he had tried to save The Virginian's life. Perhaps that man would be dead if he hadn't been around. If someone else had been sent instead, maybe he would have gone along with Jacques' plans, allowed The Virginian to be killed, and let Louis be captured.

It helped to try to find some purpose in this calamity, anyway.

His employers would be expecting him to send an answer via telegraph or to ride back to St. Louis within days. They were probably already anxious, feeling that communication was overdue.

And the more he thought about it, the more he realized he did not know what had happened to the $10,000 that had been entrusted to him by his employers.

He cringed at the realization. Even if he had been duped, the money had still been placed in his care. And if it had gone missing, he would be blamed. Maybe they would even think he had stolen it.

"Mr. Sturdevant?"

He looked up at Suzanne's voice. She was standing in the doorway, regarding him in concern.

"Good morning," he greeted, trying to smile in spite of his pain and his worries.

"I hate to see you go without food," Suzanne remarked as she came in. "If you're hungry, there must be something we can do to get you settled enough to eat."

"Thank you," he said, his smile becoming a bit more genuine. "I don't know if there is a good way. But tell me, do you know what happened to the money I was carrying?"

Her eyes flickered. "I'm sorry, I don't," she said. "I know Jacques stole it, but the last I saw of it was when Louis took it from him. I don't know if Louis carried it with him across the lake or not."

"Lake?!"

"Yes. He . . . he decided to go back to the revolution after all." Suzanne looked away. "He felt he had to do it."

"But he didn't want to accept the money," Sturdevant said in surprise. "He was so sure I and my employers had an ulterior motive."

"Maybe he thought that with you dead . . . oh, I don't know." Suzanne shook her head, overwhelmed. "Maybe he didn't take it, but I certainly didn't see him set it down anywhere."

Sturdevant groaned, bringing a hand to his head. "So I'll have to say that Jacques took the money from me and I can't account for it after that. I don't know if my employers will buy that story."

"Well, they'll have to believe someone attacked you," Suzanne exclaimed. "It should be logical for them to also believe that person took the money." She stopped at his bedside. "Why did they choose you to deliver the money and their proposal, anyway?"

Sturdevant sighed. "I don't know anymore whether it was because of my integrity or because they thought I was utterly naive." He sank deeper into the pillows. "If Mr. Boissevain was right about what they really wanted, then he was certainly not the fool I thought he was. It was I for falling for that story they gave me about wanting to help the revolutionaries."

Suzanne smiled sadly, understandingly. "Con artists can be very convincing."

He looked at her in surprise. "You sound as though you're speaking from experience."

She averted her gaze. "I am."

"I'm sorry," Sturdevant said in earnest. "I didn't mean to pry."

"You aren't," she assured him. "I'll bring you some breakfast and we'll see what we can work out for you to eat it. Alright?"

"We can try," Sturdevant said, reluctantly. "Thank you."

Suzanne hurried into the kitchen, pulling her shawl closer around her in the morning chill. She had admitted her past occupation to The Virginian during one of their conversations, but she didn't feel comfortable telling Sturdevant, at least not yet. She had never even told Louis, terrified that he would not want her if he knew how she had cheated people.

She had started to tell him, she remembered wistfully, just before he left. But he had told her that there was no need, and that no matter what it was, it would not make him stop loving her.

She smiled a bit, sadly again. She believed him.

"Well, hello."

She started to attention. The Virginian was at the table, finishing breakfast. His plate was mostly empty.

"Hello," she said, certain that she sounded occupied.

"How's Sturdevant? Still awake?"

She nodded. "I'm going to see if I can get him to eat something." Going to the stove, she started to fill a plate with some of the food.

"Let me know if I can help," he said.

"Hmm? Oh. Yes, I will. We probably will need your help." She glanced over her shoulder at him.

"You seem like you've got a lot on your mind right now," he observed.

"You seemed the same, when you came out to eat," she remarked.

He nodded. "That's true," he said. "Seems like talking to Sturdevant gets the mind rolling. What I'm not sure of is whether that's good or bad."

She paused. "I'm not sure, either," she said, quietly.

xxxx

It was a relief to finally ride into Pinetree Hill, and close to Sam's estimation of a couple hours, too. After leaving the mercenaries' horses and their own at the livery stable, and reporting the incident to the Sheriff, they were finally on their way to the town doctor's office.

"I'm not sure the Sheriff believed you about that other Sheriff trying to kill you in the flood," Trampas remarked.

"He probably didn't," Sam shrugged. "Law enforcement tends to stick together. But as long as he believes us about being attacked, we're not doing too bad."

Trampas suddenly shot him a suspicious look. "You don't have any warrants out on you, do you?"

"Not that I know of," Sam replied. "Of course, I could be wrong. And if this Sturdevant character you need help for really looks like me, I guess sometime someone could make a mistake and go after the wrong man when they really want me."

"Let's hope not," Trampas said. "We have enough trouble right now."

The Sheriff had told them that the regular doctor was not available; he had gone to a medical conference. But a friend of his had come to fill in and should be there that day, on the normal business hours. And it was a relief to see that the office looked open when they walked up to the window.

Trampas hastened to the door and opened it. "Doctor Travers?"

The doctor was a younger man—or at least, young compared to what Trampas had envisioned. Instead of silver or white hair, glasses, and a mustache, Dr. Travers' hair was still dark and he was clean-shaven. When he looked up in surprise at the urgent voice, he appeared only, perhaps, ten years older than The Virginian.

"What is it?" he asked in concern.

Trampas hurried to the desk, placing his hands on it as he leaned forward. Sam stayed near the door, silent, waiting.

"Doctor, we've been traveling through a blizzard to get to you," Trampas explained. "There's a man back at The Inn of the Weary Traveler who needs help in a bad way. He was stabbed. Worse, everyone thought he was dead and he was laying out in the woods for hours before we found he was alive."

Dr. Travers immediately threw down his pen and got up. "Is he suffering from the cold, too?" he demanded in concern.

"I don't know," Trampas admitted with a frown. "It wasn't snowing when we brought him in, but it was cold. I left pretty soon to find the doctor in the town closest to the inn. I was told the closest doctor was here."

"I'll come right now," Dr. Travers asserted. He grabbed his hat, cloak, and medical bag, glancing out the window at the slowly falling flakes. "The storm could pick up again at any time."

"You've got that right," Trampas said as he turned, heading for the door. "And we'd better already be at the inn when it does."

Travers chased after him, only pausing briefly to look Sam up and down. "Are you with him?"

Sam nodded.

Trampas looked over his shoulder. "He doesn't talk much," he said apologetically.

"Well, nevermind." Travers stepped out onto the wooden walkway. "Let's go."

Regarding the doctor in approval at his no-nonsense manner, Sam kept pace with him and Trampas on their way to the livery stable.

"I have to warn you, we might run into some trouble on the way back," Trampas said. "There's some greedy people out to take Sam in, thinking they'll get a reward for it."

Travers stiffened and frowned. "Is he a wanted man?"

"He doesn't think so," Trampas said. "He's just got some bitter enemies."

Travers nodded, looking tired. "They can be relentless."

Sam studied him for a moment. He was speaking from experience. His tone made that obvious.

Sam remained silent as they reached the stable and retrieved their horses. But as Travers briefly left them to get his, Sam glanced to Trampas and spoke. "You know, it might be safer for you and the doctor if I don't go back with you."

"Maybe," Trampas said noncommittally as he set about putting the blanket and the saddle on his horse.

"But you're not worried," Sam pointed out.

"Maybe I should be," Trampas said. "Maybe I am, a bit. But if you're who you say you are, then you need to come back with us. The Virginian will want to see you and know you're alright."

Sam finally nodded. He was impressed by Trampas's determination in the face of what could be a very serious problem in their situation. He wasn't certain it was the right decision, to let Sam come along, but he wasn't sure it was the wrong one, either.

"I guess it's still possible someone could come after you for your money," he mused.

Trampas nodded. "And having you along might shorten the time we'd have to deal with them."

"I'll come," Sam said. "But something could go wrong if we're attacked. The doctor could even end up hurt or dead."

"We'll just have to hope nothing like that happens," Trampas said. He didn't want to put the doctor in danger, of course. Nor did he want to risk anything going wrong and being unable to help Sturdevant.

But he also didn't want to trade one life for another. Sam needed help too. And he had proven himself capable of handling himself during their trek here. In the end, even with the danger to his life, they might be safer traveling with him.

Maybe, though, underneath all of those rationalizations, the real reason why he wanted to bring Sam along was to reunite The Virginian with a friend whom he had believed dead. He knew how badly The Virginian had felt about it. And he knew how badly he himself had felt about the deaths of some of his friends. He wanted to give The Virginian something that very few people received—the miraculous joy of a life restored. Trampas wasn't sure if there was anything he wouldn't give to find that one of his supposedly deceased friends was alive and well.

At that moment Travers returned with his horse. "How far away is the inn?" he queried.

"The nearest town is twelve miles from here," Trampas said. "The inn is several more miles from that."

"Then there's no time to lose." Travers got on his horse and started out of the stable.

Trampas and Sam exchanged a look before following suit. Travers meant business. And hopefully that would help to narrow the gap between life and death for Sturdevant.

"I wonder how far he's come," Trampas mused. "The Sheriff said he isn't the regular doctor. And he still came up to help, just for a friend. It's a pretty big journey for someone who doesn't live in the area."

Sam grunted. It was a pretty big journey even for those who did.

"Okay, keep your thoughts to yourself," Trampas said in frustration. "I just wondered if you'd ever heard of him."

"Maybe," Sam said at last. "There's probably more than one Dr. Travers."

"That's true," Trampas acknowledged.

"I did hear something unusual about a doctor once, though," Sam mused. "His name could have been Travers; I didn't pay enough attention to know for sure.

"The story was that he had been an outlaw who burned down a town and took their money. But while he was in prison he started working in the hospital part and that started to work on _him._ By the time he was out, he'd changed his name and went to work as a country doctor. I guess he didn't have an actual license, but in some of those out-of-the-way places—like here—he was all they had. And I guess he did pretty good work."

Trampas stiffened. "And you're saying that could be the Dr. Travers we've got with us."

"Could be. Like I said, I don't remember the name. Seems like it was something like Travers, but maybe that's just me thinking wrong."

"A doctor without a license," Trampas mused. "And a former outlaw at that. That sounds about how our luck goes sometimes."

He looked to Travers, who was still moving ahead at the quickest pace his horse could go. He certainly seemed legitimate, determined to get to the patient as fast as conceivably possible. Trampas himself hadn't ever been a pillar of virtue, but he was still uneasy at the thought of this doctor's possible backstory.

"If you're so worried about it, you should ask him," Sam said.

"Maybe I will," Trampas replied.

He rode up next to Travers. "Hey, I need to ask you something."

Travers glanced over. "What is it?"

Trampas, in his usual way, went right on with what was on his mind. "I heard about a doctor who used to be an outlaw. His name might be Travers. Is that you?"

Something unrecognizable flickered across Travers' face. "So word is still going around."

"Something like that usually does. And you don't really have a license, either?"

"No, but I learned about medicine for thirteen years," Travers said.

Trampas frowned. "You're going to have to do," he said. "There's no one else we can get. But you'd better be good."

"I always try my best."

Trampas could tell that this was a variation on a conversation that had taken place many times. He fell back to talk to Sam again. "So I'm coming back through a blizzard with a hired gun and an unlicensed doctor. I'm not sure I like that."

Sam shrugged, as though to say, _You'll have to deal with it anyway._

Trampas rolled his eyes. "I know, I know."

Suddenly he paused. "Now look what you're doing," he scolded. "You've got me figuring out what you're saying when you're not even talking."

Sam outright smirked.

"I don't know how The Virginian puts up with you," Trampas said. "But oh, that's right. You actually talk more around him."

Sam just looked at him in a matter-of-fact way.

Trampas shook his head. Sam was back to his usual mode. And Travers seemed as though he also didn't want to talk any more than was necessary.

"This is going to be a long ride," Trampas proclaimed.

xxxx

"Are you sure that's all you want to eat?"

Sturdevant leaned back into the bed with a tired nod. "Yes, thank you. It's delicious, but it's very difficult to enjoy eating in the midst of being in pain."

Suzanne nodded in sympathy and set the bowl on the nightstand. "We can try again later," she determined. "At this point, I'm just relieved that you ate anything at all."

"I'm surprised by that myself." Sturdevant closed his eyes, but then just as suddenly opened them again. "Oh . . . I just realized. Do you think your husband would be alright with my being here?"

Suzanne looked down. "He isn't my husband," she said quietly, regretfully.

"I'm sorry. That's right, he's your fiancé. I remember him mentioning your engagement."

Suzanne nodded. "But it isn't likely to happen now," she said. "There was a confrontation with Jacques that ended with his death. And as I said, Louis decided to go back to the revolution."

"I see." Sturdevant frowned, deeply. "That's going to be difficult on you, especially if you stay here all alone."

"I'll manage." Suzanne crossed to the window, her arms folded. "I was going to close the inn and move back to Fargo. I don't intend to stay around just waiting for him when I know he might not . . ." She trailed off. "He wouldn't want me to, either," she finished instead. "We decided to part as though it would be for always."

"My being here will delay your plans of leaving," Sturdevant realized. "I'm sorry for that, as well as for his departure. I wasn't aware of your presence when I set out from St. Louis with the money."

"Would that have made a difference to you, if you had known?" Suzanne returned.

"I don't know," Sturdevant admitted. "I imagine I still would have performed my duties."

"I'm sure you would have." Suzanne paused. "I thought Louis was right about you at first."

"That I was deliberately playing some con game?" Suzanne nodded. "But you're indicating you changed your mind."

"I believe what you told me earlier," Suzanne told him. "Anyway, you don't seem like a con artist."

"You feel that you can recognize them and point them out?"

"Sometimes." Suzanne took up the bowl. "I should let you rest. I know it's difficult to talk when you're in pain, too."

Sturdevant winced, leaning farther into the pillows. "I am exhausted," he admitted. "But I've enjoyed talking with you. Perhaps after I rest we can talk some more."

"I'll look forward to it," Suzanne smiled. "And to you feeling better." She headed for the door and stepped out of the room, pulling it half-shut behind her.

The Virginian was up now, pacing the floor. Suzanne paused and watched him, a bit surprised. "What is it?" she asked.

He started and looked over. "Oh . . . I guess it's a lot of things," he admitted.

"Still what Mr. Sturdevant said to you?"

"Some of that," he nodded. "But some other things, too." He glanced to the window. "Snow's starting to come down heavier again. It'll probably be another blizzard before we know it."

Suzanne's eyes flickered with worry. "And we don't even know if Trampas got to the town safely," she said quietly.

As soon as the words were out of her mouth she regretted them. But she knew the same thing was on The Virginian's mind.

He sighed and nodded, turning away. "Or if he'll make it back here safely, even if he found the doctor," he added.

It seemed ironic, really—if Trampas was lost to the snow, The Virginian would lose two friends to bad weather conditions.

Or would he? He was still disturbed by the thoughts that had come into his mind about Sam's death following his conversation with Sturdevant. The flood could have been used as a cover for a murder. Sam might not have had to die.

The Virginian had been trying to remember if anything unusual had been said in Sam's last letter, but he couldn't remember anything offhand. Sam had mentioned the town, of course. And he had said something about considering a temporary job there. That had been about it.

". . . Would you like to talk about what Mr. Sturdevant said?" Suzanne ventured.

The Virginian paused. He doubted that she was really interested. She did not seem the type to pry in general, especially with a near stranger. Most likely, she was just hoping to get her mind on something other than Trampas and Louis and the storm. But the other topic was also grim, and he doubted it would give her any peace to hear it.

"No, not especially," he said. "We just got talking about a friend of mine and what might have happened to him. It's just possible that it's different than what I've thought all along."

Suzanne nodded. "It would be hard, to suddenly have your entire view on something change," she said. "I had that somewhat, with Louis. I had no idea that he had been the leader of the revolution in Canada. He was trying to put all that behind him and start a new life."

"And then Jacques showed up to change all that," The Virginian mused. "Sturdevant too."

"With such different reasons." Suzanne gazed out the window at the swiftly falling snow. "Jacques, to gain power for himself. Mr. Sturdevant . . . to honestly try to help."

"That's what he told you?"

"Yes. And I believe him."

The Virginian nodded in approval. "Somehow I can't picture him telling a knowing lie," he said.

"I should probably check in on him again and see if he's asleep," Suzanne realized. "Oh, and I should have asked—is your shoulder any better?"

"I haven't even thought about it for a while myself," The Virginian declared. "It's alright. Still a mite sore from that scuffle I had with Sturdevant last night, but it'll heal up fast."

"I hope so," Suzanne said firmly.

She crossed the room and peered into the bedroom. Sturdevant seemed to be asleep. He was still lying on his side, looking uncomfortable but weakly gripping at the pillow. And he seemed more flushed than Suzanne remembered.

She hurried into the room and reached out, placing her hand on his forehead. It was definitely warmer than before.

"Any trouble?"

She looked up at The Virginian's concerned voice. He was in the doorway, watching.

"His fever is going up again," she said, worried. "Maybe he exerted himself too much."

"Or maybe it would have happened anyway." The Virginian glanced at the window again. "Maybe we've just been fooling ourselves into thinking he wasn't as bad off as we thought in the first place."

Suzanne dipped a cloth in the bowl of water still on the nightstand. "Maybe," she said, her voice soft as she started to run it across Sturdevant's face and neck. "And maybe he'll still die."

_Something tells me that Trampas isn't going to have much time left, if he has any at all_.

The Virginian kept that thought to himself as he stood by. There had been some miracles in the last couple of days, but now the grim reality of their situation was setting in once more.

He just hoped God wasn't fresh out of miracles for them.


End file.
